


Gravel and Silk

by Transformatron



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: (mentioned at least), Edgeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pushy Bottoms, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Switching, Twink/twink, two bottoms fighting over who gets to take it in the valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transformatron/pseuds/Transformatron
Summary: Knock Out and Starscream have been playing their little game for a while now. However, Knock Out starts to suspect foul play...In which both Knock Out and Starscream want the same thing, and are willing to do whatever it takes to get it.





	Gravel and Silk

**Author's Note:**

> **A silly idea my friend had about both the boys rocking that Extreme Twink Energy.**

"I won."

A growl like silk poured over gravel, like velvet stroked the wrong way. Smooth with a hint of bite.

Starscream’s voice suited him: a long, sleek mech whose claws narrowed to blade-like points. Those points threatened to mar Knock Out's finish, as the Air Commander sauntered over and draped himself around Knock Out from behind.

"And you know what that means, don't you, dear doctor?"

Knock Out's spark dipped. Still, no minor disappointment could negate the flare of heat in his systems. Starscream ground against his back, pointy chin digging into Knock Out's neck cables, spindly claws tracing his transformation seams. Delicate his pedes may be, but they still raised him by a metre, giving Starscream ample room to loom.

“Don’t you, doctor?” he repeated.

Knock Out knew what he wanted. Still, there was something he had to get off his chassis, before the fun began. "You've won the past ten times! Why, Commander - I suspect foul play."

Those claws dug in. "I am your superior officer. You ought to be careful, levelling accusations of _underhanded_ _behaviour_."

Knock Out kept his smirk to himself. _Underhanded behaviour_ might as well be Starscream’s designation. Still, Knock Out would soon find out the truth. Frag Screamer hard enough, he'd tell you anything.

"Very well." He introduced a rumble to his engine, letting the vibrations suffuse through the slim jet's plates. "You have my apologies, Commander. How might I make it up to you?"

"Hm. I can think of a few ways."

"Oh?"

Knock Out twisted so they faced each other. One servo cupped Starscream's waist; the other caressed his turbine. Starscream did his best to maintain his frown, but his body betrayed him: cooling fans puttering, wings swaying slowly, as if they were stirring the air. They flapped in time with Knock Out's gropes, then drew in tight to his back.

"Y-yes. For a start, you can get that stupid grin off your face."

"Mm-hm." Knock Out nudged Starscream's pedes apart, slipped his thigh between.

Starscream gasped. His heeled pedes wobbled in; he would've fallen if Knock Out hadn't locked an arm around him and ground in tight.

He could expect some paint transfer – it was inevitable, during interface. But the Commander wore few colours, other than his missiles and the chevron at the centre of his forehead. Knock Out was well-versed enough in Seeker culture to know what that meant.

A paintless flyer had lost his trine: the bots he'd been born with, bound to him at the time of their hatching. It was a curious custom. Knock Out couldn't imagine carving up his own paintjob, not even after Breakdown's... regrettable demise. But on the plus side, it meant that there was little chance of him winding up with any unsightly paint streaks! Just the odd scuff, plus a few claw-marks if Starscream _really_ got revved.

Not such a great a loss. Anyway, if Knock Out gave him the sweet, deep fragging his Commander craved, Starscream might be amenable to wielding the buffer afterwards.

There were certainly _bonuses_ to their deal. Knock Out would just appreciate a little _reciprocity._

The Seeker's valve was already leaking. Lubricant fringed the edges of his panel, neon pink, glistening like jewels. Knock Out's own panel ached. It wanted to slide back, to bare his soft, wet mesh to the cool cabin air.

Knock Out refused to let it. Not until Starscream succumbed. This was a matter of pride.

He walked them backwards, pelvic plates crushed together. Starscream's wings beat an eager dance, revealing what his scowl refused to. When the berth hit the backs of his knees, he folded beautifully, those fine legs parting to invite Knock Out between them.

Oh, he was a treat. Spread before Knock Out, tender and wet and ready for the taking.

If Knock Out had his way, he'd ride him like this, keep all that twisting, squirming energy contained beneath him, pinned between his thighs. But Starscream didn't like spiking. His cover remained locked behind his pelvic plate as Knock Out pressed those slim gray legs a little wider, each calf filling his servo as if they'd been designed to fit.

He stayed standing. The berth presented Starscream's array at the perfect fraggable height. It'd give Knock Out more leverage to fuck forwards – and Starscream, from the restrained shiver and the wet _shlick_ of his retracting valve panel, knew it.

"Ah - Doctor - let me show you where it hurts…"

"I believe I can see for myself." Starscream's valve was smart as the rest of him: neat, somehow soldierly; folds of plush gray mesh topped off with the cherry-red nub of a clit-mouse. Knock Out grazed his thumb along the slit of it, smearing a shimmer of lubricant.

Starscream damn near arched off the berth. His wings flapped; electricity sparkled on Knock Out’s fingertips.

"T-tease!"

Knock Out didn't deny it. There was nothing quite like the rush of bullying your partner, pushing them to the very edge and then – rather than knocking them over – _leaving them there._ Forcing them to _crest_ it, agonizingly slow, panting, pleading, washer-fluid leaking from their optics. An overload so intense and long it damn near knocked them into stasis.

Breakdown had never looked so magnificent as he did lashed to Knock Out's berth, spike weeping and struggling not to copy it. Begging Knock Out to _quit joking around, Doc, hop aboard…_

Knock Out swallowed. He didn’t want to be thinking about poor, dear Breakdown. Not now.

A gorgeous mech sprawled beneath him, and the promise of relief was just one fuck away. And maybe, if he played his cards right, he'd get what he wanted in return.

This fling didn’t compare to what he'd cultivated with Breakdown. It never would. But it was _something._ And, on days when Starscream limped in, the indentations of Megatron’s hands crushed into his wings, Knock Out suspected that the Decepticon Air Commander needed that _something,_ too.

And so, here they were. Dents hammered out, smiles plastered on. Together. Making _something_ new.

"Commander, you know me better than that." Knock Out rubbed his groin plate against Starscream soaked valve, chuckling at the flurry of wing-beats and curses clicked in binary. "We've only just begun."

Starscream clung to him. His claws dug in – not to harm, but to hold. Knock Out was still miffed about the damage to his finish, but with the Commander gazing up at him like this, he could afford a little lenience.

Starscream panted, glossa slack in his mouth. A silver drool trail dampened his chin; Knock Out thumbed it away. He nuzzled the knuckles of his other hand over Starscream's slicked valve. Never pressing between the lips, never bumping his clit. Just kneading the mesh, listening to the slick squelch of his oil. Smelling that sharp, sweet chemical tang.

"Look at you. Last time I saw a mech this needy, I believe it was classified as a medical emergency."

"Well," Starscream managed, arching his back in an attempt to get as much of his valve in contact with Knock Out's digits as possible. "Perhaps, as my physician, you ought to cease this dillydallying and _attend to me!_ "

"Foreplay, Commander. It's called _foreplay_."

"I think - oh! - t-torture might be more apt..."

Knock Out smirked. "And yet, here you are, returning to my berth. If this is torture, Commander, I can only assume you _like it._ "

Starscream opened his mouth to scold him. All that came out was a moan, as Knock out finally dipped a claw inside.

Knock Out grinned. His traced his claw lightly around the very edge of Starscream's valve, agitating the lowest sensory ring. A delicate, maddening penetration, designed to drive him wild. Starscream clenched, wiggled his hips, anything to pull him deeper. His intakes hitched; his slender leg shuddered in Knock Out’s grip. That greedy valve grasped the tip of his claw.

But Knock Out refused to be merciful. Not today. Cheats got what cheats deserved.

His own panel was a mess. Knock Out retracted it, sighing at the dribble of blazing oil. He longed to step away from the berth and retrieve one of the magnetic locking vibes from the drawer beneath his desk. If he slotted it inside himself and switched it to its highest setting, it'd turn fragging his Commander from _fun_ to _fantastic._

But that would entail _looking away_ from his Commander. Starscream was quite the sight: his pretences at control evaporating as he rolled his hips, pleading with body and eyes. 

He was almost ready. Knock Out stirred his valve one last time and grazed his finger – light as a tickle – across Starscream’s clit. The resultant keen assured him.

Let the interrogation begin.

“Starscream?”

The jet struggled to online his optics. They kept fritzing out, shorting with electrical pleasure-spasms. “Y-yes, doctor?”

“Did you cheat, in our little game?” Another pet of his clit, there and gone again. Starscream’s vents stuttered.

“Nuh-nuh –“

“Careful. Answer dishonestly, and we’ll be here a while.” Knock Out ghosted a second claw along the seam of Starscream’s valve. His own leaked constantly, slick puddling in the gaps between the armour on his thighs. The pulse of it was pleasant, charge darting along every wire, spark sweltering in his chest. “I can do this _all cycle._ ”

“Th-that is not medically viable. I may – ah! – fritz a few circuits…”

“Then it is in your best interests to comply, hm?”

Starscream gritted his dentae. “Sadist,” he growled.

Knock Out flashed a smirk, and kept rubbing. Starscream’s valve plumped up nicely, sensitive and soft. The conductive lubricant-fluid sent sparks zinging across Knock Out’s digits. And, of course, across the spirals of bioluminescent red sensor nodes that lined the inside.

Starscream _shuddered._

“F-frag! Curse you! Yes, I cheated! But I _won._ That’s the important thing, surely?”

“Your embracing of Decepticon values is to be commended." Knock Out shifted his weight; a futile attempt to alleviate the throb in his own array. “But Commander, if we're to continue this… _arrangement,_ a degree of sacrifice must be made on _both_ sides, not merely my own.”

Starscream growled, though he didn’t argue. His wings twitched in time with Knock Out’s attentions, as the doctor painted whirls over his rim, toying with the seeping, flexible slit. “Wh-what do you suggest?”

“That we take it in turns. No more games of so-called chance. I spike you one week, you spike me the next.”

A scowl. “Fair is for Autobots.”

“Maybe so. But it’s also for mechs who want to enjoy an arrangement such as this.” He slid his claws a fraction deeper, hooking _up._ “And you _do_ want to enjoy it, don’t you, Commander?”

Starscream nodded, gasping – then promptly looked furious at himself. “Y-y-you’re just a sore loser!”

“No, Commander. _You’re_ just a scoundrel.” Then, before Starscream could squawk in offence – “Luckily, I am too. Which means I have no qualms about using our current…” Another minuscule thrust of his digits; another _screech_ as Starscream's claws raked Knock Out’s back. There went the finish. “… _G_ _ame,_ to my advantage. Do you want my spike?”

The slippery pull of Starscream’s valve told him yes; yes, he very much did.

“Well.” Knock Out drew out his digits with a lewd suck, leaving Starscream empty, cursing him to the pit and back. “You’re going to have to work for it.”

Starscream pushed his legs wider, into a split. Of course, he made it look effortless. Pretty flier, even more flexible than most of his kind. His lubricants puddled beneath him, pink fluid smearing the curve of his aft. Shame about the scowl, but that was part of the parcel, when you were dealing with Starscream.

“Frag you, doctor.”

“That,” said Knock Out, bending to kiss the Decepticon insignia branded on Starscream's chest, “is the general idea. Do we have an accord?”

Heat from Starscream’s valve components seeped through Knock Out's codpiece, warming the spike beneath. As Starscream remained reluctant to admit his defeat, Knock Out let it pressurize, inflating one ring after the next.

He had a gorgeous spike, glittering with bioluminous lines and twinkling diodes. It was a shame to hide it, bury it in another mech – but Starscream’s cry was still a treat, when Knock Out permitted the pointed head to bump against him, kissing the slick, parted vulva in promise of what was to come.

“Do. We. Have. An accord.”

Starscream’s servos scratched shaky lines over Knock Out’s fastidious paint-work. “F-Frag –“

“Say yes, Commander. Otherwise I leave you unfinished, and sit on a vibrator while you watch.”

Starscream _snarled._ He grabbed Knock Out’s helm.

Knock Out had time to think _scrap, misjudged that one._ But Starscream didn’t go for the optics. He dragged Knock Out into a brutal bite of a kiss, tugging at his lip-plates, shoving his glossa into Knock Out's mouth as if he intended to choke him.

“Deal,” he hissed, when they finally broke apart, a brittle bridge of oral fluid twinkling between their mouths. “Now _frag me._ ”

“Gladly.” Knock Out had to cycle his vents. His cooling fans strained to regulate his core temperature. He was ever-so-slightly daze-eyed, although he didn't want to admit it, least of all to himself.

Honestly. What was he, a mechling? Getting revved over one little kiss?

He reached between them, steadying his spike. A shunt of his hips. He fed the tip in, purring at the pinch, and eased the rest of the way.

Say what you wanted about Starscream's tight-aft nature, but it at least extended to his frame _._ Even if this mode of stimulation wasn’t Knock Out’s first choice, it was still delectable – especially when you sunk into a soaked Seeker-valve, already irised open with pleasure. It swallowed him deep, callipers fluttering, sending twinkles of bliss across Knock Out’s sensory net. Starscream emitted a crackling whimper that rose in pitch for every inch he progressed.

“Doctor – doctor!”

Knock Out pulled Starscream’s hands from his chassis before he did any more damage. He pinned them to the berth above the Seeker’s helm. Then – with a firm buck – he was in. Sheathed. Surrounded by clenching, pulsing _Starscream._

“Ah – Commander, yes –“

His spike wasn’t long enough to bump the ceiling node of Starscream’s valve, but his pelvic plating mashed the jet's clit. Those long, gorgeous legs clamped on his waist. Starscream arched his back, wings scratching the berth, and _yowled._

“Knock Out – move – curse you –“

Knock Out ex-vented hard. Condensation joined the lubricants that slithered down his legs. He crushed another kiss against Starscream’s snarl and did as he was told.

They hit a furious tempo, each thrust announced with a clank and a squelch. Lubricant bubbled over, slicking the space between them as Knock Out fragged Starscream deep.

They kissed again, glossas locking. Then _again,_ harder, optics off-lined, bodies driving together in a rough, perfect wave. 

Starscream moaned, breathy and short. Like they were being stabbed out of him by the plunge of Knock Out’s spike. His sharp heels scraped Knock Out’s aft, carving crescents over crimson steel.

One dipped lower. Whether by accident or intent, Knock Out had no way to tell. But a shapely pede crept _between_ his legs, and – _frag_. If Starscream kept _flexing_ like that, digging his heels in to match the desperate undulation of his frame...

Why, it was very almost like getting fucked between the thighs from behind.

Knock Out _shuddered._ “S-Star –“

The sudden crumbling of his pace made Starscream grumble. However, he soon realized the cause of Knock Out’s predicament and, in classic Starscream fashion, turned it to his advantage.

He dug his heel in. Precise and deadly, like when he sniped targets from the air.

Scrap, pit, frag, _Primus._ The tip of his heel kissed Knock Out’s valve.

“ _Starscream!_ ” His thrusts stuttered. He gripped Starscream’s servos like they were the only things holding them to the world, and – _there._

A thick, bulging spurt from his spike. A molten-hot convulsion inside him. “Oh…”

“Mm…” Starscream canted up with a suckle of valve-callipers, milking Knock Out dry. Knock Out could _feel_ him breathing, twisting, the pulse from his very spark. All of it, centred around that place where they were joined. “Doctor…”

Knock Out pushed forwards, helpless, one last time. He nudged Starscream’s clit – and then Starscream was following him. Wings rattling, valve rippling. Spinal struts taut as a wire.

Charge zigzagged over Knock Out’s spike. It stimulated the sensory ridges, coaxing him towards a second, smaller peak. He cursed, binary beeps, burying his face in Starscream’s neck.

It was there they remained for several minutes, almost a full breem. The only sounds: their slowing vents, the whirr of overworked cooling fans.

The _plink, plink, plink_ of lubricant, dripping from Knock Out’s valve.

Starscream wormed his claws free of Knock Out’s limp fists. He traced the damage on Knock Out’s shoulder struts.

“I’ll get the buffer,” he croaked, as Knock Out’s spike retracted. Both of them shivered at the introduction of cool air to their interface arrays, saturated with mingling transfluids. Knock Out had all but collapsed on Starscream, his cabling slackened from the force of his overload.

Now he pushed up, bracing himself with a hand on either side of his Commander's torso, careful not to squash his wings. “Maybe in a moment?”

Rare of him to put it off, but... Well. Post-frag Starscream was Starscream at his mellowest. Knock Out wanted to savor him a while longer, at least.

Alas, Starscream at his mellowest was still a clanger by anyone else's standards. “A short moment. I _do_ have a ship to run, and I know how fastidious you get about your finish.”

But his wings ticked up, and his eyes were smiling, even if his lip plates struggled to emulate the expression. When Knock Out leaned in for another kiss, Starscream didn’t shove him away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Kudos and comments = more porn!**


End file.
